An Angel's Return
by Silverwind24
Summary: Four years after the closing of the Opera House, Christine is happily married to Raoul. However, a heartbreaking tragedy turns her world upside down and sends her back to a place she swore she would never return to.
1. A Reverie

_Title_: An Angel's Return

_Summary_: Four years after the closing of the Opera House, Christine is happily married to Raoul. However, a heartbreaking tragedy turns her world upside down and sends her back to a place she swore she would never return to.

_Disclaimer_: I do not own "Phantom of the Opera" or any of the characters that appear in this fanfic.

_**Chapter 1: A Reverie**_

Christine took a step back, tilting her head to the side and scrutinizing the vase which held the flower arrangement she had painstakingly created for the dining room table. She needlessly adjusted the flowers one more time, and poured in a little more water before she finally became satisfied. She looked around the small room and smiled to herself. With the touch of a vase filled with flowers, the little apartment became a home.

She began to wipe her hands on her skirt, then winced and found a hand towel to take care of the remnants of her day spent tidying the house. Not that there was much left to clean after the maid Raoul had employed went through, but Christine was determined that this apartment would be hers as much as it was the maid's. She smiled to herself at the thought. Raoul wanted to make her life easier, but he didn't realize that he resigned her to the boredom of cleaning already immaculate rooms when he arranged to have things done for her.

After four years of married life, Christine was no longer the same girl that had left the Opera Populaire after the fateful interruption of "Don Juan Triumphant" and what had occurred beneath the Opera. Christine had grown older, and even a little bit wiser. In her marriage to Raoul, she left the childish chorus girl behind and became the wife of the Vicomte de Chagny, a countess, nonetheless. She supported Raoul in his work, attended all the parties she could imagine, and was at the forefront of the social scene. These thoughts made her grin as she picked up a book and reclined not-so-gracefully on the couch. More often then not, a night out with other socialite couples resulted in Christine kicking Raoul under the table to keep him from laughing inappropriately, and one of them making an excuse to leave a painstakingly boring dinner to walk along the riverside as if they were two children strolling by the sea. Spending the rest of her life with Raoul was going to be an adventure, of that Christine was sure.

The door opened, snapping Christine out of her reverie, and Raoul strolled in, looking tired but immediately brightening when he saw Christine. She smiled and went to meet him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him. He laughed and held her tightly to him, kissing her back thoroughly.

"Missed me, did you?" he asked teasingly.

"You would think," she replied flippantly, patting him on the shoulder and turning into the kitchen.

"I smell something…" Raoul said and followed Christine into the kitchen. "You baked!"

"Of course I did! And to think you doubted my abilities," she told him, presenting him with a cake. He winked at her, and she tried to cover with her arm a place where the cake was sagging a little bit. She knew that Raoul could see it so she giggled and he laughed good naturedly at her efforts.

"That has to be the most amazing cake I've ever laid my eyes on," he stated grandiosely.

"Really, now? I would think that the famous Parisian cooks who serve your lunch every day could manage to top my cake," Christine threw back at him, thoroughly enjoying teasing him.

"Now what would give you that idea, my dear Christine? Not even the greatest chef in Paris could bake me a cake with as much love as you put into yours." With that he kissed her again, and she laughed, as much at the utter ridiculousness of his statement as at surprise from his kiss. She let him hold her then, resting her face against his shoulder, and he ran his hand along her shoulder blades, making her smile.

Christine looked up at him and brushed some of his hair behind his ear. He smiled and brightened when a thought struck him. "What do you say tonight we forget the dinner party and just go to a café?"

"No one will know we're the Chagnys if we do that," she said.

"That's the idea," said Raoul with a smile.

"Well that sounds like a fine idea to me," Christine smiled back at him. "I'll go change."

That night Raoul and Christine took a carriage to a café that had been Raoul's favorite in his youth, before he became a more prominent figurehead in his family. The carriage let them out several streets away from their destination, and they walked the rest of the way, stopping to look through the windows of closed shops, and to greet people as they passed by, not knowing who they were but sparing them smiles nonetheless. Christine stopped to lean in and admire a necklace in a store window, and as she was looking at it Raoul slipped her hand into his and kissed the side of her forehead. She turned around to smile at him and he kissed her again, making her laugh.

"Really, Raoul, we're never going to make it to this café of yours," she said, not minding his attention at all but weakly protesting nonetheless.

"Oh but it's more fun this way, Christine," he argued, putting his arm around her as they continued walking.

"I never said it wasn't fun," she added, and squeezed his hand.

A few minutes later they arrived at the small, quaint café. They were dressed unostentatiously and fit in perfectly with the relaxed, casual atmosphere of the café. They were seated outdoors, with candles providing ample lighting for their dinner. The girl that waited on them was friendly and kind, and Christine sighed and relaxed, realizing how much stress she put on herself when she accompanied Raoul to a high-class restaurant, where still, after all these years, she felt she didn't belong. He noticed her sigh and smiled at her, laying his hand on top of hers. She loved that about him, he knew what she needed and what would make her happy better than she knew it herself. He appreciated simplicity as much as he did elegance, and sometimes Christine got the idea that he preferred it as well. They talked and laughed, and Christine marveled to herself that they never ran out of things to talk about, even after knowing everything about one another and being so attuned to each other that talking wasn't even necessary. She smiled, it was just one more thing that made her love him even more.

They took the carriage back to their apartment as it had grown too dark to walk. Raoul kissed her in the backseat, and Christine thought fleetingly that the carriage driver must think they were teenagers courting one another by their behavior, but she didn't care and kissed him back with an intensity that rivaled the passion she had felt on their wedding night.

They stumbled up the stairs to their apartment, and later that night, lying beside Raoul in bed, her head on his chest, Christine kept thinking over and over how lucky she was to be able to spend the rest of her life with someone who she loved, and who loved her, this much. "What did I ever do to deserve this?" she thought. Her reverie was ended by Raoul's sudden coughing. She got up and brought him a glass of water. He smiled thankfully at her and she settled down next to him again, falling asleep in his arms.

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**Well, what did you think? Review and I'll update as fast as I can! Don't worry, it's going to get more exciting soon enough, this chapter was just to set the scene!**


	2. A Shadow

Chapter 2: A Shadow

Christine woke the next morning to the sun falling on her face, and the realization that she was alone. As always, she kept her eyes closed for as long as possible, as if delaying the fact that she knew Raoul was no longer beside her. Moments later she got up and went about her morning routine, washing up, getting dressed, and arranging her stubbornly curly hair in the most reasonable way that she could manage.

She thought about attempting another baked good and abandoned the idea. Raoul had been so sweet about trying to eat the cake and he wouldn't admit that it was probably the worst thing he had ever tasted. Christine could admit it to herself though, and she disposed of it neatly.

Putting on a hat and locking the door behind her, Christine went for a walk, meandering along the streets of Paris. She looked in windows and smiled at the people that passed her by. She turned around a corner and walked across the street to the park. She came here with Raoul often, but never alone. Sitting down on a bench she took in the scenery, watching people walk by, sometimes along, or in couples. She watched their interactions, and as much as she appreciated being alone, it made her realize how much she enjoyed being with Raoul, who always knew what she was feeling, and what to do to make her smile. Suddenly, she was struck with the urge to go see Raoul and surprise him. She smiled to herself. That's exactly what he would love.

When Christine arrived at the building where Raoul's office was she approached the man at the desk. "Excuse me, monsieur, I'm here to see the Vicomte de Chagny."

The man frowned. "I'm sorry, mademoiselle, he left."

Christine was taken aback for a moment. "Do you know where he went?"

He looked closer to her and then nodded in recognition. "I didn't recognize you for a moment, Countess. I believe the Vicomte was feeling a little under the weather."

"Oh. Thank you, monsieur." Christine smiled at him and walked quickly out of the lobby and towards the apartment, wondering what it was that had caused Raoul to leave the office, knowing that he wouldn't take doing so lightly.

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Christine took the steps leading up to the apartment two at a time, and unlocked the door quickly. Shutting it firmly behind her and locking it again.

"Raoul?" she called out, taking off her hat shoes. She heard a cough in response. "Raoul?" Entering the kitchen she saw Raoul trying to drink a cup of water, a bottle of some kind of medicine in his other hand. Immediately worried, Christine was at his side in an instant.

"What's wrong? Did you go to the doctor? What did he say?" she asked, taking his temperature with the back of her hand.

Raoul swallowed and shook his head. "No, I didn't, I'm fine really. I just feel a little feverish, that's all." He smiled to reassure her.

"What about this cough?"

"It's nothing, just clearing the lungs," he said, blowing it off.

"Alright, if you say so. You should go lie down, and get some rest," Christine suggested, pushing him gently towards the bedroom.

"Only if you come with me," he said, grinning.

Christine couldn't help but smile and laugh, following him to their room. Still, in the back of her mind, worry for Raoul crept in, casting a shadow over the brightness of her day.

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**Thanks to the readers who liked and reviewed! Please review if you read, liked, hated, or adored! I'll update as soon as I can. The chapters will definitely be getting longer, just bear with me. **


	3. Tainted

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! It means so much to me, and they kept me going and inspired me to update as fast as I could and to write a longer chapter. In response to questions, Erik will most definitely be appearing in this story. I'm almost finished setting the scene and then the drama will begin!

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**Chapter 3: Tainted**

Christine woke up several times during the night, worried for Raoul, but heard only the soft sounds of him sleeping beside her. Sighing in relief, she curled up closer to him and went back to sleep.

The next morning Christine woke when Raoul did, and he smiled at her in appreciation. She made him breakfast, cooking eggs as best as she could, and he winked at her when he saw her struggling, not quite the perfect housewife that she strove to be, but her efforts making him love her even more.

"Be careful today, Raoul," Christine said as he got ready to leave, leaning against the doorframe and looking at him with concern.

Raoul looked back at her and saw the worry on her face. He crossed to where she was standing and put his hands on her slim shoulders. "I'm fine. Believe me." He kissed her forehead, making her close her eyes and smile softly. He folded her into a gentle hug, making her believe that everything would be fine. And she believed him. "No need to worry. It's just a cough."

"Alright, alright. I'm not worried at all! So there!" She stood on her toes and kissed him, then pushed him towards the door.

"Have a good day, Christine," he threw back over his shoulder as she pushed him out, laughing.

That day passed, as most of her days did, with Christine spending her day in further ventures of becoming a well-balanced young woman, and culminating with her and Raoul going out for the night. That night he seemed a little more tired than usual, and they excused themselves right after dinner and came straight home. Christine was tired as well and they both went to sleep immediately, and she didn't have any time to spend worrying about Raoul.

The next day was the same as the last, and the days slipped by so quickly after that, and looking back on them later Christine wondered where they went. She was still concerned for Raoul's health but she only noticed weakness in him as a cough here and there, or a weary looking smile at the end of the day.

About a month after Raoul's initial symptoms had surfaced, he and Christine were attending a dinner party that Christine had been worried about because as a well-versed socialite would put it "everyone" was there. All eyes were on them as they entered the ball, and Christine smiled as she took Raoul's arm. He smiled back at her as the walked together, mingling with other couples, who complimented them on their attire and conversed about the politics of the city and various other topics. After a few minutes Christine's jaw was clenched and she could see Raoul was already tired of the small talk.

Dinner was served, and Christine managed to eat and pretend to pay attention at the same time. When someone wasn't talking to her and asking needless questions about being Countess, or commenting snidely about her lower-class origins or short-lived opera career, she watched Raoul, seeing how easily he made conversation. She saw why he was so easy to talk to, to trust, and to believed. He spoke with such conviction, no forced or empty statements for the Vicomte de Chagny. She saw so clearly why everyone loved him. And, more than she even knew was possible, why she loved him.

The music started to play, and Raoul rose and extravagantly offered Christine his hand to dance. She smiled and nodded graciously playing along, making him smile at their joke. They were so much more than this social scene and both of them knew it, everyone else knew it too, she supposed, as Raoul had married her, an orphan raised at the Opera Populaire.

"How have you been feeling tonight?" Christine whispered to him.

"How am I supposed to be feeling?" he asked flippantly. "Excellent, of course!"

"Don't joke, I could see you quite clearly from where I was sitting. You're tired again, aren't you?" she asked, seriously.

"No more tired than any other day," he replied, with a look on his face that she couldn't identify. "Stop this, let's dance, it's the best part of these nights because I get to do it with you."

Christine couldn't help but smile and laugh, letting him spin her out on to the floor. One hand on her waist, the other holding onto her hand, they moved easily across the dance floor, in time with the music.

"I'm glad I'm here with you," Christine told Raoul. "You're the best dancer here."

"There's no one in the world I'd rather dance with than you," he said softly, interrupting the rhythm of the dance to kiss her quickly on the lips. The look in her eye told her that he wasn't satisfied by one chaste kiss, and she laughed.

"Really, Raoul, in front of all these people?" He was about to respond when he suddenly halted and started coughing. After a few hacking coughs escaped his lips he doubled over, coughing uncontrollably. Christine put her hand on his shoulder, unsure of what to do. He shot her a panicked glance but was unable to speak, and she guided him over to the side, grabbing the first glass of water that she saw and helping him drink it. Raoul managed to choke some of it down, stopping the onslaught of coughs, momentarily. He looked so pale and weak, suddenly, that Christine helped him sit down. She took off one of her long gloves and felt his forehead, alarmed at how warm it felt.

"Oh, Raoul," she breathed with worry. "I'm going to call the carriage, will you be alright if I leave you here for a moment?" Raoul nodded, but didn't speak, just looked back at her weakly.

Frowning and swallowing hard Christine rushed to the door and called for their carriage. She hurried back to where she had left Raoul, and found him staring transfixed at his gloved hand. "What is it?" she asked. He folded his hand up quickly as she spoke, and rose to follow her.

"Nothing, it's nothing, dear."

"Raoul, what is it? What's on your hand?" She pulled at his arm insistently. "Let me see your hand."

"No, Christine, let's just go," he told her, starting to walk away.

Suddenly frightened, Christine grabbed his hand and turned his palm towards her. In an instant she dropped his hand, gasping and covering her mouth.

Raoul's white silk glove was covered in blood.

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**Oh man! Please review! Let me know what you guys think, and I'll update as soon as possible!**


	4. Sickness

**Thanks so much all of you reviewers! I didn't want to let you down so I stayed up til 2 am to finish the longest and hardest to write chapter yet! I'm so glad that so many of you like the story, and I'm going to try not to disappoint anyone. **

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_Chapter 4: Sickness_

Looking back on the events that followed, Christine could only remember them as one remembers a dream, with cloudy memories, and the feeling that she was powerless to stop things from happening, with her voice no louder than a whisper.

Christine remembered the doctor's visit, but nothing that he told her. She faintly recollected the doctor listening to Raoul's chest, taking his temperature, and then shaking his head gravely and pulling Christine aside as Raoul lay back down, closing his eyes.

"What is it? What's wrong with him?" Christine asked the doctor with such intensity that he was taken aback.

"Madame, all of your husband's symptoms indicate to me that he has consumption."

Christine was silenced by the words the doctor spoke, and she looked back at him without moving or responding. The diagnosis rang out in her mind, stunning her, and striking her with a cold horror that caused her heart to leap in her chest, almost paining her. She breathed in sharply and brought her hand to her throat.

"Will he be alright?" she asked, suddenly desperate. The doctor didn't reply right away but just looked back at her steadily, and she gasped.

"Madame, your husband has been sick for quite some time. Consumption is an extremely dangerous disease, and if it has been caught early there is a small chance of survival. I'm very sorry to tell you that I'm afraid there is nothing I can do for the Vicomte at this stage of the disease." The doctor spoke kindly, sympathetic with the woman who looked so fragile and young. His words were also unrelenting, and caused Christine to suddenly feel dizzy and weak. She sunk into a chair and put her head in her hands. After a moment she looked up at the doctor.

"Excuse me," she said, shaking her head and pulling herself together. "Are there any instructions you can give me for how to care for him? What to expect?"

The doctor described to her how to make Raoul comfortable, to feed him light meals, and to administer a cough medication to him regularly. He described the disease as a gradual wasting away, originating in the lungs. He warned her that Raoul's coughing would worsen and his fevers would rise. Christine bit her lip as hard as she could while the man spoke methodically of the gradual increase in symptoms that would lead to her husband's death, but she couldn't stop a tear from escaping and slipping down her cheek.

Wiping it away, she shook the doctor's hand and thanked him for coming. He would be back in two weeks to check on Raoul, he told her and she forced a smile as she showed him to the door. After closing the door behind him, she stopped, and looked down at her shaking hands. She slowly lowered herself to the floor and began to cry, allowing the sobs that had built up inside of her to flow out, her shoulders shaking with grief. Christine cried heartbrokenly for only a few minutes, her sobs subsiding to tearful whimpers. Wiping her face with the sleeve of her blouse she resolved from that moment on to be strong for Raoul, to smile when she wanted to cry, and to comfort him, allowing no comfort for herself. With that decision, Christine was no longer the young woman who was questioning, scared, and unsure, but someone stronger and older, who was able tell her husband, who had been so in love with life, that he was dying.

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There was nothing in the world that could possibly be more painful for Christine than watching the one person she loved more than anything slowly waste away. Every morning she would greet Raoul with a smile that cost her everything that she had to hold on to. He would smile back and look at her with hardly veiled sorrow in his eyes, but try to joke and pretend that he was fine, even though he was rapidly losing weight, his cheeks were sunken, and his cough was ever present and unrelenting. Raoul insisted that he remain in the apartment alone with Christine for the duration of his illness, despite his parents demands that he be sent to a sanitarium or pursue further medical attention. It was futile, he told them, and he'd rather spend the time he had left with Christine. She held that sentiment in her heart when she looked at Raoul, loving him more and more in his weakness, and a little bit of her heart dying each day with him.

Bringing him a bowl of soup on a tray, Christine touched his forehead, feeling its unnatural warmth that was becoming permanent, and wiping it with a cool cloth. She sat down on the edge of the bed close to Raoul, and helped to prop him up so he could eat the soup more easily.

"There we go," she said softly, half to herself.

"Thank you, Christine," Raoul said, meaning it, as he began to eat slowly, as he was becoming resigned to do everything.

She rubbed his arm affectionately and watched him eat, smiling when he looked at her. After he finished she took the tray away and he lay back against his pillows, closing his eyes. As Christine was clearing off the tray and washing the used bowl, she heard Raoul start to cough from the bedroom. Dropping what she was doing, she was by his side in an instant, handing him his glass of water and steadying his shoulders. Minutes passed and the coughs subsided, and Raoul lay back down again, trembling a little from the exertion of coughing.

Christine reached for his hand and took it in her own, stroking his fingers with her thumb. He turned his head to the side and looked at her, tears in his eyes.

"I'm so tired, Christine. I feel so weak. Every day it gets worse and worse, and soon enough…" he trailed off and squeezed her hand. She looked back at him, barely able to contain her tears.

"I know, Raoul. And I'm powerless to stop it. I just have to watch you suffer and there's nothing I can do!" Her voice wavered as she spoke, and one tear fell, which she quickly wiped away.

"Christine, you're my everything. Just seeing your face is enough to get me through the whole day." He paused and she smiled crookedly at him. "But I promised you that I would always be there for you, and now… I can't do that. I can't take care of you and that's the worst thing about this," he said, faltering as tears filled his eyes and his throat constricted. "Being with you has been like a dream, too perfect to be real, and now we can't-" he stopped, shaking his head and fighting to regain his composure, but unable to continue.

Christine tried to speak, to reassure him, but she couldn't. Everything that he said was so poignant and true, and he was suffering so much because of it. It was more than she could bear.

"Oh Raoul," she whispered, and started to sob, showing him her sorrow for the first time, breaking down because there was nothing else she could do. He opened his arms and she leaned against him, kneeling on the floor and holding on to him, feeling him shudder beneath her as he cried, the only time she had ever seen him lose control throughout their whole marriage. He stroked her back and she clung to his shoulders, still gentle and careful not to hurt him. As minutes passed and tear subsiding, Christine pulled back and looked at Raoul, sitting down on the floor.

"I love you," she offered, taking his hand in hers again.

"You know I love you," he said back, managing a smile. And that was all that needed to be said.

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As the days and weeks passed, Raoul grew weaker. He was thinner than Christine had ever seen him, and every fit of coughs left him so exhausted that he was unable to speak. He began to cough up more and more blood, leaving him pale and listless. He couldn't even lift a spoon to feed himself, so Christine did it for him. She knew that he was ashamed of what he had become, but she remained insistent and loving, occasionally coaxing a smile out of him. She took up the habit of passing the long days by reading aloud to him, never leaving him alone unless it was absolutely necessary. She hired a girl to take care of the meals and cleaning, so she could spend every moment by Raoul's side.

It killed her to see him like this. Every now and then Christine would see a sparkle of life in his eyes, and it made her love him even more, for holding on so for so long, for her. It became apparent that no amount of love or will to survive would keep him alive forever. With every day Christine could see him slipping away, as he spent more and more time sleeping, and his only waking hours coughing. Christine woke up in the middle of the night to intense, hacking, unceasing coughs. She immediately helped Raoul sit to clear his lungs, and covered his mouth for him with a handkerchief. He didn't stop after minutes, and the time passed with agonizing slowness for Christine, and seeing the panicked look in his eyes, she began to cry. The handkerchief was soaked with blood before he was able to have a moment's rest, and somehow she knew, from the loss of blood, the sweat on his face, or the glazed shine in his eyes, that the end was near.

"I love you Raoul, you know that," she whispered, her arms around him, her lips in his hair.

"Christine," he whispered, so weakly that his voice had only a shadow of the strength that it once had in it.

"Raoul," she responded tenderly, combing back his hair with her hand, and stopping to kiss his forehead, holding on to him as if that alone could keep him with her.

"You should sing again. When I'm gone."

"Sing? I sing all the time. To you," she told him, her voice quiet and plaintive.

"To people other than me. Your voice is so beautiful, the world deserves to hear it again," he whispered.

"Alright, alright, I will, if you want me to," she promised.

"I do. I love you, Christine," he said again, softer than before, closing his eyes a little bit, as if he was too tired to hold them open.

"I love you, Raoul."

"Christine, do you think you could-" he stopped and swallowed.

"I could what?"

"Sing something, for me?"

"What do you want to hear?"

"You know."

She did know, and after kissing his lips briefly but so tenderly, she opened her mouth and sang softly, almost like a lullaby, "Say you love me every waking moment, turn my head with talk of summertime. Say you need me with you, now and always. Promise me that all you say is true- that's all I ask of you… that's all I ask of you."

As she sang the last notes, she knew that he was already gone, had taken his last breath as she sang, and was gone forever. Closing her eyes, she buried her face against his neck, letting the tears seep down her cheeks and onto him, her husband, lover, and best friend.

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**I REALLY did not want Raoul to die but I had to do it :'( I cried a little when I wrote that... I really need some reviews on this one to let me know if that was actually sad or if it was only me... lol. I'm leaving for vacation on saturday and coming back tuesday so I'll try to update tomorrow but if I don't then the next time you'll hear from me will be late tuesday or early wednesday, so leave me LOTS of reviews and I'll update faster! Thanks so much and I hope everyone enjoyed that last chapter.**


	5. You Never Belonged

_Author's Note: There is no excuse for my lack of updating other than I'm a freshman in college and I'm a lot busier than I thought I would be! I'm so so so so sorry and I'm going to stick with this story from now on!_

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Chapter 10: You Never Belonged

How could the sun keep on rising and setting, how could the world keep turning, and how could the stars keep shining at night, when Christine's world was so full of sorrow? Birds still sang with their simple joy, children still laughed as they ran in the street, completely oblivious to the pain that certainly would befall them as they grew older and lost their innocence, as Christine had lost hers.

The funeral Mass was solemn, with incense filling the expansive church, and a choir singing hymns somberly. Christine couldn't listen, she couldn't even pray. She sat in the first pew beside the de Chagny's, and she could feel Raoul's mother staring at her throughout the entire liturgy. But she didn't care. Christine felt so small, like she was being swallowed up by the church, Paris, the world. Raoul had been her light, and without him she was helplessly lost in the darkness.

She stood and sat methodically but thoughtlessly, every single movement that she made, from the slight twitching of her fingers, to the automatic straightening of her shoulders, reminded her of Raoul, and how he was gone. It was more than simple pain, more than just an ever present ache. She couldn't describe it, would it kill her to do so? Would it push her over the edge of the fragile threshold that defined what she could bear and what would break her? If she wasn't broken already, Christine couldn't even imagine what it would be like to be broken, for what could be worse than this pain?

Raoul's mother had a vice like grip on her arm. She pulled her along, and Christine half-wanted to shake her off, pull herself together, and walk with her head held high and proud for the man her husband had been. She wanted to be strong for him. When she tried to focus her eyes, she couldn't, when she tried to walk, she stumbled, and when she tried to speak, all that came out was a choked gasp. Her mother-in-law whirled to face her, suddenly, pulling her behind the column and falling back from the group that had begun to walk towards the carriages and to the cemetery. Her aged and worn face close to Christine's own, she spoke fiercely, tightening her death grip on Christine's frail arm.

"Pull yourself together, girl," she whispered caustically. "I don't care what feelings you let yourself believe that you have, and neither do all of these people. They are here for piece of mind, to let themselves believe that they've done their duty so they can move on with their lives and forget about Raoul de Chagny and the poor waif that he was deluded into marrying." Christine gasped again in horror, her tear-exhausted eyes filling yet again. "Stop with the theatrics, it's not going to bring him back, or undo the damage you've done to his reputation. You couldn't even let him die with the honor he deserved as a Chagny, but in the little hovel you called your home, keeping him all to yourself, down to his very last breath." She moved closer to Christine with every word, her nails digging into Christine's arm, and her own eyes hiding behind bitter tears.

"Why are you saying this?" Christine finally whispered in horror, her face pale underneath her black veil. When would she run out of tears?

"Because every word of it is true, and everyone here knows it, except for you, you naïve little child. You've been deceiving yourself for far too long. You never belonged in this family, and you never belonged with my son." With those words that reverberated endlessly through Christine's mind, the Countess pulled Christine sharply towards the door of the cathedral and out into the sunlight.

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Something inside of her snapped. She did not say another word to the woman who was so clearly using her own pain to make herself feel better for never making things right with her son. At least Christine was able to realize this, and not take the Countess' words to heart. Or at least she told herself she wasn't taking the words to heart. Still, she couldn't stop shaking throughout the carriage ride, and her slight and unnoticeable shudders had grown slightly more convulsive by the time they arrived at the cemetery. The Chagny moratorium was located at a central location in the cemetery, and Christine couldn't bear the thought of Raoul being exiled to that cold and unforgiving structure.

"Raoul isn't really in that box," she told herself silently as she stood, unmoving, before the casket once again. "He's in a place endlessly better than this, enjoying eternal glory in Heaven, for why wouldn't his soul find rest there? He was so pure and good, altruistic, and loving-" she stopped herself, feeling the grief that would send her to the ground in hysterics creeping up on her once again. She prayed, as she had constantly been praying, for the soul of her husband, and for the strength to somehow forgive the people that were making her miserable now.

Just at the moment where Christine was feeling more alone than she had felt in her life, even after the death of her father, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. Turning, as if in a daze, she found herself looking into the understanding eyes of Madame Giry. In an instant, the older woman had folded Christine into her arms, as she did so many years ago when Christine was only a child, trying to hide her sobs behind her hands as she left her home, and her dead father behind. "Oh, Christine, my poor child, ma fille, ma petite fille," she whispered consolingly, stroking Christine's covered hair, her other hand rubbing her back gently.

"Not here, Madame Giry, not in front of them," Christine said softly and desperately, pulling away, and wiping away the tears that had finally escaped freely and cleansingly.

"Meg is here too, cherie. Come, your obligations here have ended." She took Christine by the hand, a mirror image of what had occurred so many years before. Christine glanced back nervously at the Chagnys for a moment, before deciding that this was the last time she would see them, and the last time they would see the one person Raoul had wanted with him when he left the world, and the one person he had trusted above all others.

Madame Giry had the Opera House's carriage with her, Christine noticed after she had already allowed herself to be helped inside of it. Before she had a chance to say anything to Madame Giry, Meg had thrown her arms around her best friend, and kissed her on both cheeks.

Meg's exclamation of: "Oh Christine, I love you so much!" was all that needed to be said. Christine hugged her friend back, remembering how Meg had comforted her, made her laugh, and entertained her with stories of life in the opera house after her father had died, but somehow, sadly, she knew that it wouldn't be the same this time. No simple story would make her forget that Raoul had died in her arms, and that she was going to have t live the rest of her life without him.

"Where are we going, Madame Giry," Christine asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her head resting almost in Meg's lap, as her friend had removed her hat and veil and was stroking her hair and wiping away her tears.

"Just somewhere you can spend the night and stay until you can stand on your feet, child, don't worry." Madame Giry's voice was more soothing than Christine had ever thought it could be, and the rhythm of the carriage and Meg's comforting hand on her head lulled her to sleep before she could even protest returning to the Opera House for the first time in four years.

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_A/N: Sorry that it's so short, I promise that the next chapter will have more to it, this one needed to be a filler. Please, please, please review if you want me to update. anything is acceptable, even one word. Thank you!_


	6. What Forever Meant

_Author's Note: Thanks so much for all of the reviews! You guys are all amazing, and I appreciate your input so much! I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much._

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**Chapter Six: What Forever Meant**

Christine woke to soft, kind voices whispering to one another, and she came to the sudden realization that she was not in her own bed in her apartment, but tucked tightly beneath a large, home-made quilt in a warm, dimly lit room. Sitting up and rubbing her puffy eyes, she cleared her vision and recognized the room as Madame Giry's apartment, and felt a flood of fear at the very fact that she was within the newly reconstructed Opera House. Clutching at her quilt, she looked over and saw that Meg and her mother were at the other side of the room, whispering with one another.

Meg turned her head, her soft blond curls falling over her shoulder, and saw that Christine was awake. She smiled so genuinely that it tugged at Christine's heart, and instantly was at her friend's side. "Christine! You're finally awake! Are you feeling any better?"

Christine attempted a smile, but it felt foreign and misplaced on her lips. "Was I ill?"

Madame Giry glided across the room until she was beside Christine's bed alongside her daughter. "You have a slight fever, my dear, and nothing more, due, I think, to the stress of the day." Christine felt her own forehead, remembering how she had wiped Raoul's burning brow countless time, and felt regretful, for an instant, that she did not have consumption herself. As if Madame Giry could tell Christine's dark thoughts simply by reading the expression on her face, she presented her with a cup of steaming tea, which Christine gratefully accepted and began to sip slowly.

Meg sat cross-legged on the bed across from Christine, drinking her own tea and smiling easily at her. Christine wondered for a moment how Meg could be so at ease, and remembered that she always was this way. After her marriage, Christine had no longer been Meg's constant companion, but they still saw each other frequently, just never within the Opera House, as it had been undergoing repairs and renovations, and because of the unspoken agreement that Christine would never be asked to return there. She winced inwardly at her current location, but forced herself to consider the room as part of Madame Giry's apartment, not a suite within the Opera House.

Christine wondered when Meg would speak, and break the comfortable but lengthy silence that grew between them. What was there to talk of? Not of the latest production and the usual gossip that accompanied it, because that was a life Christine had left long ago. Whenever they had met in Paris more recently, they would talk about fashion, Raoul, and Meg's short-lived and numerous romances. None of those things seemed appropriate now, when Christine was lost within a grief so deep and dark that she could barely look her friend in the eye, for the fear that it would send her to a place that no one could follow her to.

"I haven't been back here in four years," Christine said softly, verbalizing the thoughts, and because she realized that Meg was waiting for her to speak, knowing what Christine needed instinctively.

"I know, Christine. It's safe here now," Meg offered.

"I didn't need to come here, it had been my home for so long and I loved it, but after _Don Juan_…. I couldn't even think of even walking by," she said shakily, staring blankly in front of her at Meg's hands. "And I had Raoul. He was everything that I ever needed, he made me feel safe, he made me feel loved, because he loved me, more than I ever deserved." She was able to look at Meg when she spoke about Raoul, smiling slightly as she remembered how tenderly he had loved her. "And now he's gone, and what am I? Nothing more than my father's orphan, the silly girl who caused the deaths of innocent people because of my own naïveté, and _his_ obsession with me, when all I was trying to do was be loved." Her voice broke, and her hands tightened around her cup of tea. "I was loved, more than I ever thought was possible, even though his family thought I was ridiculous. He didn't even care! He let them down and reflected poorly on himself to be with me- before that he would have given up his life for the sake of my own freedom and happiness. What other man in the world would do that, Meg? There isn't any other! I loved Raoul with everything that I had," she paused to let out a strangled sob, "And even that couldn't keep him here, and we thought it made us invincible." She laughed suddenly, scaring Meg. "We were so wrong. We promised each other forever not knowing what forever meant." Breathless and pale, she stopped, looking at her friend with drained, glazed eyes.

"Oh Christine…" Meg breathed, and leaned closer, wrapping Christine's slight, trembling shoulders into her arms. There was nothing that she could say to reach Christine in her sorrow, she barely moved, other than the spasmodic shudders that gripped her body, and she had no more tears to cry. Meg felt a warm hand on her arm, and turning away from Christine for a moment, she looked into the knowing face of her mother.

Madame Giry's eyes seemed to tell Meg that everything would be alright with time. Christine would be her friend again, and not the broken young woman she had become. "Come, Christine, you should get some rest," Madame Giry coaxed her, nudging Meg off the bed and helping the young woman to lie back comfortably. Christine nodded, thanking them wordlessly and sinking into her bed.

"I'll be right here," Meg said softly, motioning to the cot on the other side of the room that she had set up for herself.

Only after Madame Giry had extinguished the candles that lit the room did Christine whisper, "Thank you," so silently that she was sure the Girys did not hear. As she was drifted off into a desperate, exhausted sleep, she wondered fleetingly and groggily if he would be watching her as he always had.

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_Thanks for sticking with me, keep reviewing and I'll keep updating!_


	7. Something Called Hope

_Author's Note_: I'm really so sorry that it took so long to get this up, I keep getting caught up with college and neglecting this, but I really don't want to be! Thanks for getting me going again ! Please review and let me know what you think, otherwise it might take me a million years to update again. Thanks so much for your patience and persistence!

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**Chapter 7: Something Called Hope**

"Christine? Christine? Are you in there, Christine?"

"Oh- sorry, Meg. I was somewhere else for a minute." Christine turned away from the window and faced her friend.

"That's alright, Christine. Lunch is ready downstairs if you would like to come down and eat with us," Meg told her, looking at Christine intently from her place in the doorway, pleading written on her face.

Christine shook her head and looked at the ground. "Thank you, but I'm not very hungry, I'm afraid," she told Meg, who's face fell slightly, but not without anticipation. Christine had not ventured beyond the Giry's apartment since the day she arrived there nearly four weeks earlier. Remaining in the apartment wasn't as confining and impossible as it would seem, and every day when Meg or Madame Giry would invite her out or even to the dining room for a simple meal, Christine would reply that she wasn't hungry, or felt ill. These things were not fabrications or exaggerations either, since Raoul's death Christine had been pale, listless, and entirely without an appetite, causing the Girys to try even harder to comfort her, though Christine merely chastised herself for burdening them and their kindness even further.

Christine looked up again and saw that Meg was still standing in the doorway, looking at her. "Go on and eat, Meg. Don't you have a lot to do before Francois comes tonight, and I know it will take you all afternoon to get ready for him," she said teasingly, referring to Meg's newest amour.

Meg grinned back at Christine, but there was sadness in her eyes at her friend's strained attempts to make things easier for her. "Feel better, Christine, I'll send something up to you later!" She smiled again and disappeared behind the door, and Christine could hear the sound of her feet as she ran down the hallway in the same way that she had since they were girls, Christine always walking carefully and prudently with Meg, sprinting headlong down corridors, as her foil. Christine smiled again, slightly, thinking of Meg, so vibrant, joyful, and alive. It hurt her again to think of how she was casting a shadow over her best friend's carefree happiness, even if it was the superficial sort. As much as Meg enjoyed herself in her carousing, Christine knew that she was perceptive and took her friend's pain to heart. But there was nothing that Christine could do to stop it.

Moving away from the window, she crossed the room and walked over to her bed. She was tired, though she didn't know from what. All that she had done since she had awoken was bathe herself, read a little, and stare out the window. She climbed back under the covers, allowing the weight of the quilt on her shoulders to comfort her, and buried her face in the downy pillow. As she closed her eyes, she imagined that Raoul was in the washroom, getting ready to come to bed. It was the only way that she could fall asleep anymore.

Christine woke later to the pressure of someone else on the bed beside her. She blinked to clear her vision and then sat up quickly, startled, before recognizing that it was only Madame Giry.

"I'm sorry, Madame, I was a little bit startled," she apologized, meeting Madame Giry's solemn stare.

"Think nothing of it, child. You were not at lunch- why?" she asked, and Christine stared back at her. Didn't she know? After a few moments of silence, Madame Giry asked again, "Why, my dear? Are you not well?"

"I'm not, Madame," Christine replied, half-wondering if it was a lie to proclaim herself to be ill, when her illness was not of the body but an acute cancer of her heart.

"Well then I think it's time we take you to see a doctor, you've been like this for far too long. Get dressed now," she said, with such authority in her voice that Christine actually stood up and moved towards the trunk that held the few items of clothing she had brought from the apartment that still waited for her to return to it.

"Madame," Christine began, realizing that there was nothing any doctor could do to help her, but Madame Giry silenced her.

"No, Christine, you are coming. You need to leave this room, and what better reason than for some much needed attention?" She stared at her, and Christine knew that no amount of arguing could persuade the woman who had known her since she was a girl to do any different. Madame Giry flipped open Christine's trunk and pulled out a long and slender black dress, laying it down on the bed, before reaching to the back of Christine's nightgown and beginning to undo the buttons. Christine closed her eyes, but the gentle touch of the older woman's fingers against her back swiftly and unexpectedly brought back the memory of Madame Giry dressing her before _Don Juan Triumphant_, and she shuddered, causing Madame to pause her administrations and place a hand on Christine's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Christine whispered. "I've been a terrible burden to you and I can't even bear to let you dress me."

"Nonsense," she replied, and continued to unbutton the nightgown, and then lace up the back of Christine's corset. Christine's hands shook as she slipped her arms into the sleeves of the black dress, and her muscles tightened as Madame Giry finished tying and buttoning the back of the dress. She turned and faced the full-length mirror that hung on the wall, and if she could have felt emotion, it would have been surprise at what she saw. The dress, already an impossibly small size, hung loosely on her body, and she knew why, she had barely been eating! Her skin, which had been a delicate and much-admired ivory, was even paler than it had been, with a sallow tinge to it, contrasting sharply against the dark circles below her eyes. As she stared at herself blankly, Madame Giry took a brush to her curls, pulling them back with a black ribbon.

Christine half-hearted thought to herself that at least Madame Giry understood her need to mourn to some degree, but Christine thought that not even the most empathetic person could realize that she needed more than to simply wear black to convey her sorrow, she needed to cloak herself in darkness to keep out the sunlight of hope that she mustn't allow to enter. Because it wouldn't be real. She would only be deceiving herself, and she could never allow herself to believe that the world was good and beautiful, or that anything would be right in her life again. How could you descend into Hell and pretend to be happy once you had been in Heaven?

Christine did not speak as Madame Giry took her by the wrist and led her through the corridor, down the stairs, and to the carriage. Christine was forced into the carriage just by the gentle pressure of Madame's hand on her back. She took her seat, and began to stare out the window, remembering, against her will, the night that she had traveled to her father's grave through the dark so many years ago. It seemed so long ago, but was it?

The carriage passed quickly through the cobblestone streets of Paris and did not stop when it reached the edge of the city but continued down a small country road. Christine, looking out the window, wondered what doctor could possibly be located so far away from the rest of the population, but she didn't care enough to ask. All of the houses and signs of city life slipped away the further from Paris that they traveled, until all that could be seen was empty fields, trees, and hills. Christine found herself thinking unwillingly about the last time she had been in the country with Raoul before he had gotten sick. They had decided to go on a picnic, and instead of hiring a driver to take them, Raoul decided that it would be much more of an adventure if he drove the carriage himself. And he was right. She remembered laughing so much at his antics, as he pretended to be the driver and kept calling her Madame, despite her protests. He had held his head straight and high and kept a tight-lipped expression, in the perfect imitation of a Parisian carriage driver. She had laughed long and loud, almost falling out of her seat beside him as he played the role perfectly. The contrast between then and now was so acute that she had to put her hand against her chest and breathe in sharply. Madame Giry looked at her but did not speak. When the pain subsided, as it always did, without completely slipping away, she returned to staring vacantly out the window.

A little cottage appeared on the horizon, and as the carriage rolled over the bumpy road, Christine stared at it, transfixed. The cottage was petite and humble, with a thatched roof and a small garden, with an inviting stone path winding out to the road. The carriage pulled up in front of it, and for some reason, Christine wasn't surprised. From the moment she had seen the cottage only minutes before, she knew that it was her destination, as surely as she had ever known anything. She remained unsurprised when the carriage rolled to a halt before the cottage, and Madame Giry murmured a few words to the driver that Christine didn't bother to listen to. The driver opened the door and helped Christine out as she stared absentmindedly at the fence that closed off the cottage but remained inviting still the same. Madame Giry took Christine by the arm, hissing a curt "Allons-y, ma cherie," beckoning her to follow. Christine followed Madame, stumbling once on the stone walkway, but was held up by the older woman who was so used to being strong.

"What sort of doctor is this, Madame?" Christine asked after the woman knocked once on the door.

"One for the heart," Madame Giry whispered, and before Christine could respond the door flew open. As Christine stood dumbstruck, they were greeted by the enthusiastic cry of a woman who immediately kissed Madame Giry on both cheeks.

"Antoinette! Bonjour, bonjour! Ah, I see you've brought your friend! Come in, I've made tea!" Christine was immediately taken aback by an energy and passion that she hadn't encountered since before Raoul's death.

"I used to be like that, in love with life," she thought to herself, with a tinge of regret.

They were ushered into the cottage quickly, and before Christine could think her coat had been removed and she found herself sitting in a comfortable parlor, with a cup of tea in her hands.

"There, is everyone happy for the moment? Good!" the woman asserted with enthusiasm. Christine took that moment to look at her in a way she hadn't been able to in the hurried moments at the door. The woman wasn't what Christine would consider young, she had laugh lines around her eyes and mouth, undoubtedly from the wide smiles Christine could see that she was accustomed to giving. Her brown hair, darker than Christine's own, was piled on top of her head in a loose arrangement, and Christine decided that she was the type of woman who would leave her hair down, but had chosen to attempt to tame it due to the visit of Madame Giry, whose hair was never out of place. Her clothes, though pressed and neat, were in a stark contrast to the Madame's black attire, as they were lightly colored and didn't seem to portray austerity in the same way that Madame Giry's clothing seemed to do. There was something about this woman, from the sparkle in her eyes to the smile on her face that made Christine want to know why she was this way.

She was jolted out of her reverie by the pressure of Madame Giry's hand around her wrist. "Christine, pay attention, si-te-plait, for one moment," she whispered, a tinge of irritation in her voice.

"I'm sorry, Madame," Christine replied softly, turning her eyes away from the woman she had been studying intently to stare at her hands.

"Come, Antoinette, don't be too harsh. We haven't even been introduced yet!" the woman said good-naturedly. She leaned towards Christine and took one of her hands, shaking it gently, "My name is Mathilde D'Arcy, I'm a friend of the Madame's. I used to frequent the Opera House. In fact, I recognize you as one of Madame's ballerinas," she told Christine, smiling.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Madame D'Arcy," Christine said with a small smile of her own.

"Please, please, just Mathilde," she assured her. Christine nodded in affirmation, and then looked at the woman expectantly, even more confused by her casual disposition. Her apathy had temporarily subsided and was replaced with curiosity at what this woman could possibly offer her, and Madame Giry's purpose at bringing her here.

"If you please, Mathilde, I don't quite understand why Madame has brought me here to you," Christine offered, finally desiring answers to her questioning.

"You were always impatient as a child," Madame Giry muttered.

Mathilde just laughed. "You must have questions, if I were in your position I'm sure I would too. In fact, the reason I believe that you're here is that I was in your position a number of years ago."

"What do you mean?" Christine asked, wondering if she too had been lead throughout France by Madame Giry, or, as Christine suspected was true, if she meant something more personal.

"My dear Christine," Mathilde began, her tone compassionate, "Antoinette has told me of your past, your career at the Opera House, your marriage to the Vicomte de Chagny, and his recent death."

Christine could feel her face pale at the mention of the Opera House, and her eyes instinctively welled with tears at the remembrance of her happiness with Raoul, and the fact that her heart was breaking for the millionth time as she became aware of the constant pain she felt simply because he was gone forever and she missed him in a way that was indescribable and yet still desperately needed to be expressed. "Yes, all of those things are true," she said so softly that her voice was little more than a whisper.

"Well, my dear, you have been through so much for one so young," the woman offered with kindness, and Christine looked down at her hands, knowing so acutely that she had. "Let me tell you a little bit about myself, if I may." Christine nodded, as she was obliged to do, and Mathilde continued. "I was once a dancer in the ballet, a young child when Antoinette was a teenager." She grinned, "I looked up to Antoinette as an idol, as she was the most talented of all the older dancers, and the most beautiful, if my memory serves" Madame Giry grumbled at this, causing Mathilde to laugh almost raucously, and Christine's eyes widened as she watched. "I lived in the dormitories of the Opera House well into my teenage years. I know what it meant to grow up there among so many girls my own age, to train, to dance, and to perform. I adored life at the Opera House, but I knew that there was more. There always is, you know." She paused as if to see if Christine was still listening, so she nodded in agreement with Mathilde's statements.

"There was a young man, there always is one of those too, a banker, who would come to the Opera with his family. He was quite rich, very handsome, and I dare say that I caught his eye." She winked at Christine, who blushed, though she didn't know why. "One day he approached me after a performance and asked my name. His was Francois D'Arcy, and I didn't think much of it, I never did, those rich young men only wanted one thing in those days, in general they weren't quite as romantic as men today seem to be. But this one was different, he was quiet in his boldness, and got to know me so gradually that before I had even realized it we were familiar acquaintances. We began meeting each other at cafes in the city just to talk as friends. I had never known that someone of higher social standing could laugh at the same things that I did, or would be able to humble himself enough to spend time with someone like me without becoming ashamed of himself. He never made me feel lower than him, though I suppose I always had some degree of class, and watching how contained he was in public helped me to do so as well. Before either of us knew what had happened, we had fallen in love." Mathilde smiled and blushed as if this love had occurred yesterday, instead of years ago in her youth.

"I had met Francois when I was sixteen, and by the time I turned nineteen he began talking about marriage. I knew that his family would never approve of their successful and promising son marrying a ballet dancer from the Opera House, and he knew the reputation that dancers bore as well as the next. That didn't stop him from proposing and giving me the most gorgeous ring I had ever seen. It was one of his only expensive gifts to me, and I appreciated that he recognized that love should not be bought with trinkets. He introduced me to his parents and I behaved as graciously as I could. For one moment I thought that they were actually happy for us, but instead they exploded at Francois the moment I had left. He stood by me unwaveringly and we stood up in church together six months after he spoke to his parents. Everything that happened since we met was like a dream, no one understood me like he did and I loved him unconditionally, despite the flaws that he had. I never doubted his love for me either, despite how truly imperfect and unsuitable I was." Mathilde stopped and looked closer at Christine to see if she was paying attention. Instead, she noticed that the girl was crying silently, tears slipping almost imperceptibly down her white cheeks. Mathilde glanced at Antoinette, who shook her head, and so the woman continued.

"We were married for five years, and we fell more in love with each other every day. I knew that what we had wasn't usual; none of my married friends seemed completely infatuated with their spouses in the same way that Francois and I were about each other. Our life together wasn't perfect, we had our disagreements and our hard times. But I knew that in the long run nothing would tear us apart and I fully expected to grow old with him beside me." Christine suddenly let out an audible sob, but she covered her mouth tightly and waved for Mathilde to continue. After looking at Christine with concern, she went on. "I learned, tragically, in our fifth year of marriage that things don't always work out exactly as you plan. One day two solemn officers appeared at my door. They had come to inform me that the bank that Francois owned had been robbed, and he had been killed. The officers told me that the robbers were talking about, to be frank, forcing themselves upon the women that they had taken as hostages, which Francois, ever chivalrous, would not stand for. When he protested, they shot him in the head." Christine stared at Mathilde in horror, partly at the appalling nature of Francois' murder, but also at the calm and matter-of-fact way in which Mathilde relayed the story.

"I know what you must be thinking, my dear Christine, how can I speak about my husband, the love of my life, in such a detached manner? Truth be told, at the time of Francois' death, I was inconsolable in my grief. I felt as if death would be a welcome release from the pain I felt at being without him. Nothing would be right in my world again, nothing had ever been right. I raged at the murderers that killed my brave husband in the prime of his life, depriving us of many more happy years together, the children we had yet to conceive, and the story of our lives that we would be unable to continue writing. I raved at God, who I felt had treated me more cruelly than any person deserved to be treated. I questioned His existence, His sanity, and the right that He had to take away from me the one person who was the most important to me. My immediate family thought me to be insane as they could not speak to me, could not reason with me. Now, I'm almost ashamed of how I conducted myself, but I know that at that time there truly was nothing that I could do to control my passions. I felt utterly and totally lost and alone." Mathilde stopped, and Christine could see the grief that still hid behind her eyes, which she was somehow unafraid to express but able to do so with control all the same.

"What did you do? How did you deal with the pain of such a loss? If death was so welcome to you, why did you not embrace it? Were you ever able to trust in God again?" Christine spoke suddenly, startling Mathilde, whose expression immediately softened as she saw how Christine trembled with emotion as she implored the older woman to impart this knowledge upon her.

"It was simpler than I thought that it would be. And it took time for me to realize what it was that I was meant to do, but once the thought occurred to me I felt foolish for never realizing it before. I simply thought of Francois. During his life he had been happy despite the difficulties he encountered, and he only wanted me to be happy as well. In turn, I decided to live each day for him, living the life that he would never be able to live, and taking care of myself for him, so that he would be proud to have left me behind as his widow. I never forgot him, and there is never a day in which I wake without wishing him to be beside me. I know without a doubt that Francois is with God in Heaven, as your Raoul must be. Where I had once turned away from God in anger, I turned towards Him in my grief. Francois would not be happy to see me barely living, and he deserves so much more than merely a ghost of the woman he loved." Christine shook as she cried, and Mathilde put her hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "Don't you see, Christine? All is not lost. It is alright to grieve; I understand it more than anyone, perhaps. But it is not fair to the ones we love to let ourselves wither away in sadness and despair, as tempting as it may be. He doesn't deserve it, Christine. He deserves to see you happy, healthy, and making something of yourself, for him."

As Mathilde looked at her, waiting for her to speak, Christine looked down, the thoughts that flew through her mind clearly written in the expressions on her face. After a moment, she looked up at Mathilde. "I want to be happy. Really, who wants to live out their days in despair? But he was my happiness. I feel like there was nothing else."

"No one can tell you what your happiness must be now that Raoul is gone. It needs to be something that you do for yourself," Mathilde told her. She paused, then spoke again. "Tell me, are you going to remain at the Opera house or return to the place in which you once lived?"

Christine shook her head. "I can't go back there. There are too many memories that I suppose I can no longer allow myself to dwell on. But the Opera house…."

"There are memories there, too?" Mathilde finished for her.

"Yes. Though I wonder if it has changed as I have."

"You may always remain there, Christine," Madame Giry interjected, speaking for the first time since Mathilde had relayed her story.

"I know Madame, thank you," Christine replied quietly. "But I don't know if I can…"

"If you can what, my dear?" Mathilde asked. "Sing?"

Christine looked up and met the woman's eyes, a little startled. "Yes. Raoul wanted me to. I promised him that I would before he died but it was something that I put out of my head until now. I suppose I was too grief-stricken to do anything but mourn. Even now, I feel as if I have only seen a ray of light as opposed to coming out into the sun." Neither Madame Giry nor Mathilde spoke, choosing to let Christine come to her own conclusion. "I did promise him, and I cannot break my word, especially not as it was his dying wish. I wonder if they would take me back," she wondered aloud.

"Don't even question that, Christine. With a voice like yours," Madame Giry began, and then saw a flash of pain come over Christine's face. "No need to rush though, my child. No one will pressure you. There is a new musical director, new managers."

"You're right, Madame. There's no reason why I cannot audition for the next opera as any singer would. The name of Christine Daae has not been spoken in the Opera House for years, I suppose." Madame Giry almost smirked at Christine's naiveté, her name would always be a legend in the Opera House.

"Are you ready to take on the world now," Mathilde asked. But Christine still looked hollow, broken, and empty. As perhaps she always would a little bit, but. something had changed in her.

"Perhaps not the world. But I think I'm ready to leave my room," Christine replied, and she attempted a half-laugh that was forced, but she knew, somehow, that next time the smiles and laughter would come easier, and be less painful.

"That is all that you need to do right now," Mathilde stated, and rose to her feet. Christine and Madame Giry did the same, and they followed her to the door. Madame Giry and Mathilde embraced, kissing both cheeks. When Mathilde came to Christine and Madame Giry had begun walking towards the carriage, Mathilde looked at the younger woman with tenderness and compassion.

Suddenly, Christine had wrapped Mathilde in a tight hug. "Thank you," she whispered into her ear. Then she pulled away, smiled, a little sadly, and began to walk towards the carriage, a different woman than the girl that had stumbled into the cottage in a daze. Something had changed her; something called hope.


End file.
